Things Are Never What They Seem
by Archer Ash
Summary: Harry's entered his school classroom to find there's a new teacher. The man, Sherlock Holmes, has only been there five minutes and I think he's trying to kill me! I wouldn't put it past Uncle Vernon to put him up to it..
1. Chapter 1

Harry winced as a group of Dudley's _"friends" _barged past him, knocking him into the school gate, causing his glasses to be knocked off of his face. He could hear the laughing and the jeers fading as he warily bent down to pick them up.

Oh, how he _wished_ that he didn't have to go the same school as Dudley; that way Dudley would stop telling everyone how much of a freak he was or, threatening to beat people up for talking to him. Dudley had plenty of people to talk to which always made Harry feel very insecure: what if he actually was a _freak_?

He could understand Dudley hating him though because they were actually _related_, although he'd privately wished many a time that they weren't. He would always stop this trail of thought though, because that was disrespecting his Mum and Harry couldn't bear to do that.

Mum. It was a foreign word to him.

For years, he'd been convinced that sleeping in a cupboard and being starved of food was normal until they'd watched numerous documentaries and films on families a few months ago.

It had left him feeling very resentful. Resentful of _Dudley_ who despite his many flaws had two parents who doted on him. What did he have? Dead parents who had died and left him. Harry didn't even know what they looked like. Sometimes, when he was particularly hungry and tired, he wished he'd died in that car crash too, instead of getting this stupid scar on his forehead, like a twisted souvenir.

At least then he would get to see his parents.

* * *

Pushing these dwelling thoughts aside, he made his way into school and straight into his first classroom.

Thankfully, he didn't share this class with Dudley or his friends, except for Piers who always stared at Harry like he was something to devour.

Casting his eyes around quickly, he took notice of the small class (which he was thankful for) and, the lack of teacher.

Mr Worth had left the previous Friday which meant they would have a new teacher. Hopefully, somebody who didn't ignore him or treat Harry like dirt on their shoes.

It wasn't that he was stupid, it was he feared what would happen if he got better results than Dudley… The one time he got top of the class, he naively showed Aunt Petunia who immediately brandished him a cheat and accused him of trying to steal her 'Dudder's' limelight. He was locked in his cupboard for the rest of the night.

His internal musings were cut short as he noticed a very tall man stroll arrogantly into the classroom.

The man glared at his students, his penetrating gaze sweeping over him, making him duck his head down unused to the attention.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and unfortunately for you, I'm the one who is teaching you for the remainder of this term".

He was not dressed like any teacher Harry had ever seen: he was wearing a tight purple shirt, black trousers and what appeared to be a cross between a robe and a dressing gown.

It wasn't only his clothes though that had most of the class staring at him in awe; the man had the most defined cheekbones, he'd ever seen. And, those _eyes, _they felt like they were stripping you bare, getting rid of Harry's masks. Harry reckoned he was in his early twenties, if not younger. All in all, the man- Mr Holmes, was very intimidating and a tad unnerving.

"What would you get if I multiplied eight by seven" he shouted loudly, making the class jump.

Harry thought hard: eight fives were forty, eight' sixes were forty seven - no eight - so eight sevens were fifty six. He grinned to himself.

Unfortunately, Holmes had noticed too. "You there, the answer" he said, which came out as a demand more than a question.

"Fifty-six, Sir" he replied meekly, not used to the attention being placed on him. He could feel Piers' eyes burning into his back, hoping that Harry would get the answer wrong.

Sherlock - Mr Holmes nodded briskly and then glanced at Harry, staring into his eyes for the first time. As he was staring, he did the most magnificent double take, his eyes widening in utter shock, much to Harry's confusion.

And then, to further his bewilderment, he barked out "Register, it's what you do isn't it" and then proceeded to practically run to the computer.

Calling out the names as briskly as he could, he paused when he got to Harry's name and stiffened.

Turning round, Mr Holmes pulled out some sort of stick and suddenly, everyone seemed to freeze except him.

Harry's mouth had gone numb as he tried to shrink into himself, to get away from that almost feral stare of his teacher. But he couldn't _move. _How on earth had the lesson turned into this? He'd only been in the classroom for five minutes. Oh, Dudley was right, he moaned internally, it was his fault, he really was a freak.

Oh god, he thought desperately. I've had some illusion placed on me so I can't move and now he's going to kill me. I don't want to_ die_. I really don't. I'm not even eleven yet and I'm going to murdered by some insanely weird guy with a bizarre name!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was in a state of severe panic. He'd never coped well with attention as he had been starved of it for so long and for him to be literally _unable to move_ whilst, everyone else was _frozen _was too much for him to comprehend.

The situation was too unbelievable for him to comprehend.

He hated feeling restricted. The feeling slithered within his veins, constricting every nerve and impulse. It tormented his breathing, depriving him of air. Harry had had many panic attacks within the small confine of his cupboard, unable to shout out, knowing that even if he did, there'd be nobody to help. Nobody who would care.

The only thing he could focus on was the wild eyes of this… stranger. They were raking over his features, memorising every inch and sinew. Staring manically, as if he couldn't believe that he was real.

The man- Holmes, muttered some words with that bizarre stick of his and all of a sudden, Harry felt freer again – able to breathe.

"It_ is_ you" Holmes began, breaking the tense silence; complete ignoring the still forms of the other student's.

Harry began backing away unconsciously, but didn't try and run away: he knew such effort would be futile. Even if he did, the man was capable of unnatural things, things he thought to be impossible.

Holmes was murmuring to himself and was grabbing his hair anxiously, as if he was trying to tear chunks out of it.

"If you don't mind, would you just get it over with?" Harry spoke warily, with a hint of resignation.

That question snapped Sherlock out of his reverie and seemed to elicit, well, what appeared to be genuine anger.

He spun on his heel, and marched right up to Harry where he still remained, seated at his desk. He leaned forward, invading Harry's personal space, causing him to flinch involuntarily. And that one, small, flinch was the catalyst that set Sherlock off so badly.

"You think I'm going to kill you" he stated, laughing hoarsely. It sounded unused, like he didn't find much happiness in the world. Harry could relate to that.

"Oh, but look at you" Holmes cried. The feral look in his eyes had been replaced by a look of deep sadness.

"Harry Potter, nearly eleven. The birthday which will now have so much significance to you and I'd _believed_, the old fool _had let me believe_ that you had grown up aware and happy".

Believed what? What on earth was so special about his birthday? Nobody had ever even wished him a happy birthday before, well not one he could remember..

"You suffer from agoraphobia. I'd think you were a clinical anorexic if not for the obvious signs of abuse and malnutrition. Your guardian, most likely a male, physically abuses you which has made you very wary of other's. No, no, _no_, that's not the reason."

Harry stared in disbelief. Was the man a mind reader or something? He watched uncomfortably, as the man scrutinised every aspect of him.

Holmes – Sherlock, let out a noise of despair.

"A boy of your age lives with you, or should I say, you live with him. He beats you and then encourages others to do the same. You've suffered brutal emotional and physical abuse. The abuse inflicted upon you has left you extremely insecure and you've believed every torturous word people have said."

Harry stared dumbfounded. He'd didn't what half those words meant, but to get his life story, so accurate was scary. His feelings of escaping were vanishing; instead they were being replaced with a sense of overwhelming curiosity. Just _how_ did this man seem to know so much about him?

"How do you know so much about me?" Harry exclaimed violently.

Sherlock straightened and grimaced.

"You are extremely underweight for your age but it's not self-inflicted. I heard your stomach rumble at least twice as I entered the classroom and you've been staring unconsciously at other people's lunchboxes. Look at where you sit, as far away from the other children as possible, and you try to avoid being noticed. That's why you look so startled to me asking you a question earlier; you're not used to the attention. You also fail to make eye contact unless forced; you are used to being ordered around. As for spotting the physical abuse, the bruises and handprints are SO EASY TO SEE!" he shouted, anger evident on his face.

Harry reeled back in shock... and in shame.

"And, you flinched when I approached you earlier" he trailed off furiously.

Harry had no idea how to organise his thoughts. The man was some sort of God.. he must be with these incredible powers.

"What do you want from me?" he asked questioningly.

Sherlock reached for a chair and sat down in front of Harry. He watched as Sherlock pondered that very question, watching his eyebrows narrow in concentration, practically seeing the thoughts jump across his head.

"I'm taking you with me" he finally said, studying Harry's face intently to observe his reaction.

Deep down, Harry's heart soared at the chance to leave the Dursley's but the man was just so _unpredictable_.

Scanning the room, taking in his classmate's frozen faces, he deliberately maintained eye contact to prove he wasn't afraid and asked: "How did you do that to the others?"

A flare of anger lit up within Sherlock before he visibly tried to shake off such emotions.

"I'm… different. And, so are you. You're not like the other children here, Harry. Which is a really, really_ positive _thing. I can do magic you see… and so can you." He explained, words chosen with precision as to not shock the poor boy too much.

"Prove it" he shot back, becoming furious at the realisation that this was a massive prank that the Dursley's had set up.. To mock him… To taunt him.

But Sherlock remained unnerved, simply pulling out that stick again and muttering a few words which caused all the empty tables to float around the room in a bizarre sort of dance.

Harry watched amazed and thought it was illegal to have so many massive revelations revealed in an hour.

"Am I really like you then?" he asked gobsmacked. "I'm nothing special you know, I'm just a _freak_" he muttered, flinching at the truth of his words.

Surprisingly, Sherlock flinched heavily too, an incontrollable reaction it appeared, though Harry didn't dwell on it.

"_You_, Harry, are as magical as me. _You_ have the right to a magical education. Believe me when I say, there would be an uproar if _you_ weren't allowed to learn magic."

He nodded cautiously and made to stand up.

"Will you unfreeze the others?" he asked enquiringly.

Sherlock spoke a few words which Harry didn't catch and then said "Obliviate".

"It will erase their memories of the past twenty minutes: they'll have never seen me and, will have never seen you enter the class".

"Wow" he replied, astounded before being freaked out that Sherlock was manhandling him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, startled.

"I need to get us back to my flat, we can go there using side-along apparition. It's like teleporting." Sherlock replied, easily.

Harry only nodded, before being spun around and what felt like being forced through imaginary pipes and tunnels, all the while clutching onto the arm of this insanely brilliant man.

Young Harry Potter had no idea what would lay in store for him.

* * *

Note- I hope you like where the story is going so far! If you want me to add anything at all, message me and I'll see if I can add it in! Please review by the way, it really makes my day and lets me know what you think of the story so far! Archer Ash x


	3. Chapter 3

Harry gasped for breath as Sherlock let go of him, having forgotten to breathe whilst, apparating. He spun round disorientated, trying to get a bearing of his surroundings.

He appeared to be in a flat, just like Sherlock had said. Unbelievable, mused Harry. Apparating anywhere you want would open up so many possibilities. You could travel anywhere and nobody would know where you were: you could be anywhere in the entire world. You could go anywhere, see anything. And nobody could stop you. He wasn't sure he liked the sensation of actually apparating though but he was sure he could get past that.

"If you don't like apparating, you could always use brooms" Sherlock shouted from across the room, shaking Harry out of his thoughts.

He laughed at the thought of flying on broomsticks, only to immediately quieten after. Harry was unsure of drawing attention to himself and his deep rooted fears hadn't vanished over the course of a morning.

Unfortunately, Sherlock being the omniscient person he was, noticed too. Showing great tact however, he didn't comment upon it. Instead, he directed Harry's gaze around the room, causing Harry to stare around in alarm.

Aunt Petunia would have a fit if she saw this: the flat was an absolute mess. Books were stacked haphazardly everywhere, in large stooping piles, like pieces of jenga that were about to topple over. There were chemicals stacked around, glass containers with bubbling liquids that looked as if they were about to spew and was that a human skull on the mantelpiece?

Harry stepped back, instinctively. It _was_ an actual skull. A skull. A real, genuine, bloody skull. And, it was on display. Like Sherlock was proud of it. Parading it to the world. Irrationally, Harry's thought process immediately leapt to the idea that Sherlock was a murderer. A killer. And, this time Harry would refuse to be the victim.

Reflecting quickly, he realised it should have been obvious to spot. Of course Sherlock would be dangerous. What on earth had made him think that he wasn't going to be lured here and killed? Harry berated himself angrily. He'd been so intrigued by the prospect of this man explaining magic to him, that he'd let his defences down. What a stupid, _stupid_ mistake.

Nobody had seen him either, according to that spell, Sherlock had cast earlier. So, nobody knew where he was or even who he was with. And, the Dursley's wouldn't file a missing report for a few days at least. They might not even be bothered to file one at all.

He started hyperventilating, in confusion and was so consumed by his irrational thoughts; he failed to notice Sherlock walk over to him, stepping right into his personal space.

Harry did notice however, when the man began shaking his shoulders briskly.

Unfortunately, what happened next were two things: Harry immediately lashed out in surprise at the physical contact and reached blindly for some sort of weapon which sadly, happened to be the knife embedded in the mantelpiece. Secondly, Doctor John Watson had come back to the flat and arrived just in time to see Harry plunge the knife wildly at Sherlock.

* * *

In hindsight, it was all Sherlock's fault. However, this didn't stop Harry's stomach from twisting uneasily at the bandage Sherlock was now sporting. Luckily, the knife had only grazed Sherlock's arm.

As he stared over at Sherlock, he noticed the lack of anger, the man seemed to be feeling or not feeling in this case, which only intensified his feelings of guilt. If anything, Sherlock seemed to be _disappointed_.

His ears could just about hear Sherlock muttering the words: "I cannot believe that old fool was planning to let you enter this world so woefully unprepared! If he's not careful, history's going to repeat itself."

History? What old fool? Harry didn't understand and got distracted as he noticed the other man – John, brought him a cup of tea.

He squirmed on the sofa, watching this new man stare at him with distrust. He didn't blame the man though; he probably thought Harry tried to stab people on a regular basis. The irony of this thought made him chuckle slightly.

"Can you please tell me why I'm not calling Lestrade, Sherlock? And, why you're letting this boy just sit there after attempting to _stab_ you? He's not an angered client is he, Sherlock? I'm absolutely _refusing_ to come with you to court again."

Harry stared at the man - John with surprise. He seemed so loyal to Sherlock, a trait Harry had not often seen. Glancing at him, he covertly scrutinised his appearance. Shorter than Sherlock by far, but with sandy blonde hair and with very deep blue eyes. He also appeared to have done some sorts of martial arts training as he had knocked the knife out of his hand earlier with what seemed like practised ease.

Who knows though? Maybe the reason he knew how to disable Harry so effectively was because he did it to other people. I mean, he was still partially convinced that Sherlock was trying to murder him.

"Ahh yes." Sherlock began with a sense of collected ease.

Gesturing grandly he said: "Harry this is, Doctor John Watson, ex-solider, doctor and… friend". He said the last word gingerly like he hadn't used it often and judging the pleasantly surprised look on John's face, he didn't.

Harry understood that. He didn't have_ any _friends. He suddenly felt embarrassed of this, and didn't want Sherlock and those all-seeing-eyes to notice so he tried to cover this by reaching for his cup of tea. He took a long gulp of the tea, thirsty after not having drunk all day.

He glanced back over as Sherlock walked behind the sofa and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders lightly, making Harry go tense. He took another sip of tea to compensate for this anxiety, thinking he could always throw the tea in his face and run for the door if he needed to.

"John, this is Harry Potter and... he is my son".

Harry promptly spat out his tea, spraying it in a fine mist over the floor.

John's reaction however, was one of abject horror and complete and utter surprise.

Sherlock merely proceeded to grip Harry's shoulders tightly and to stare at John with faint amusement.

What the hell?


	4. Chapter 4

Harry stared at the sight of John falling abruptly to the floor. Judging by Sherlock's look of utter disbelief, Harry felt it was safe to say that John didn't faint in shock often.

Unfortunately, John hit his head on the table edge falling down and it appeared to knock him unconscious; his head landing in Harry's spit out tea.

"I must say this is a first" Sherlock said, the amusement clear in his voice. "He'll be most embarrassed when he wakes" Sherlock exclaimed gleefully. "And what perfect blackmail material this will be!" Harry heard Sherlock mutter in an undertone, to himself more than Harry.

Harry stared at Sherlock's blatant lack of concern for John's welfare, as well as totally ignoring the implications of what he had just said.

He stood up, and stepped over the table, to look at John on the floor. In honesty, he wasn't sure what to do, so he rolled him over, to make sure he was at least breathing. Knowing it would be futile to try and lift the man onto the sofa, Harry placed a couple of cushions on the floor for John's head to rest on, satisfied at what he'd done.

Turning round, he noticed Sherlock had just walked out of the room, as if announcing he was his father was a completely normal thing to say in a conversation.

Scanning the layout of the room, it was safe to presume Sherlock had walked into the kitchen. The banging a moment later, confirmed this thought. He walked angrily up to Sherlock, so blindsided by his emotions he failed to notice the frozen fingers on the side nor the toes in various cups which would have cemented Harry's belief that Sherlock was a serial killer.

"How dare you. How dare you! How could you do such a thing?"

Sherlock just leant against the counter as calm or as _cold _as could be which made Harry more infuriated.

"Stop this internal crisis that you're about to have. I am not your father".

Harry stopped in his tracks, his rage suddenly dispelling. He relaxed visibly, relieved that his mother had not had an affair. He didn't want his perception of his parents to be shattered like Aunt Petunia had tried so hard to do. A small, _small _part of him though was disappointed, which made him feel instantly ashamed.

"We are related though."

This got Harry's full attention back on Sherlock and waited for him to explain.

"Your father and I were cousins; your grandmother Dorea, and my mother were sisters. So, we are technically first cousins once removed. Although, all the purebloods are related in some way or other."

Harry was stunned. Until now, he didn't know his father had any other family: he thought the Dursley's were all he had. The thought of the Dursley's pricked a trigger in his head: "Do I have more family? Why, was I left with the Dursleys then? Did you leave me there?"

"After the deaths of your parents" Sherlock begun and stopped when he noticed Harry's eyes widen.

"Yes, I know about that. Of course I'd know. Have you just missed the last few minutes of this conversation? Anyway, I was actually living with your parents that year; my parents had died a couple of years ago. The war caused many deaths, so many that the purebloods are near extinct nowadays."

"I was away at Hogwarts- a wizarding school when it happened so I couldn't have taken you in because I would have been sixteen at the time and you'd already been taken away by the time I could protest. Do you know, I wasn't allowed to even see you, for your own 'protection', when you were growing up in case other's found out. And, ironically it turns out; you should have been protected from the people, who were supposed to protect you."

Harry stared numbly, his brain trying to process what had been said, unsure where to start.

"Why did you say you were my father though?"

Sherlock lit up immediately at the question and grinned delightedly. "Don't you see? It's the perfect disguise, the alarm will have been raised at the Dursley's so, everyone will be out searching for you. But nobody would suspect the newly found son of mine, whose mother suddenly died and is therefore, placed in my care. It's ingenious."

The man looked so pleased at this plan it was a surprise that he didn't break out into some sort of dance.

Sherlock stopped and scrutinised Harry: "We'll have to change your appearance though; there's not enough of the Black resemblance in you, you look too much like the Potter's."

"What if… what if I don't want to be changed?" Harry said hesitantly, watching Sherlock's manic expression dissolve and go immediately blank: blank and impenetrable.

Sherlock rattled off apathetically: "You'll be forced to go back to the Dursley's for the summer and then you'll have to attend Hogwarts. Dumbledore will carefully mould you into the perfect weapon throughout your years so you'll be able to fight against the darkest wizard of all time and, you'll have your whole life mapped out for you. If you choose to stay with me however, you can excitement and _adventure_, and so much more."

Carefully, Sherlock reached out to guide Harry around the objects that littered the floor and sat him back down on the sofa, ignoring John's still form. Sherlock quickly grabbed a chair from the kitchen and placed it directly in front of Harry.

"What happens if I choose to stay then?"

"You'll become my son. Like I said earlier, it really is the perfect disguise, especially if your appearance is changed."

"Is it permanent?" he asked warily.

Sherlock sighed. "It would be permanent, you couldn't change back to who you are now; your very DNA would be changed as well. That being said, your appearance wouldn't be too startling to you as we already look vaguely similar now".

Sherlock watched Harry debate it internally before, he nodded gently.

"Excellent!" Sherlock boomed and got out his wand and directed it at Harry.

"Wait!" Harry cried.

Sherlock glanced at him questioningly.

He blushed, at how this was going to sound but asked anyway: "Do you promise me you're not a murderer?"

Sherlock laughed, genuinely amused. "I give you my word, that I don't kill people. I help _catch_ murderers which is why I have body parts littered around the flat."

"Body parts?" Harry cried out alarmed.

"Oh. You didn't notice it then? Never mind! So, are you sure you want to do the spell?"

"Yes" he murmured and braced himself for pain presumably and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Mutare speciem aeternum!" he heard Sherlock cry.

The effect was instantaneous. He could feel his nose shooting forward, his cheekbones pushing outwards; his lips becoming fuller. It didn't hurt, but it felt so very bizarre.

He opened his eyes and found to his delight that he could see so much _clearer_, and was it just him or was he a lot taller now? Glancing down he noticed that he was still as thin as ever.

He glanced at Sherlock and saw the man look at him in amazement.

"It's uncanny. Really, quite remarkable. And, I see you suffered no side-effects." He proclaimed proudly.

"You mean it could have gone wrong?" Harry exclaimed disbelieving and then stopped when he heard the difference in his voice. It sounded… richer, and slightly lower. How strange.

Sherlock side-stepped the question. "Would you like to see a mirror?"

* * *

Harry was still stood at the mirror in the bathroom ten minutes later, staring at his new features.

His hair was much darker, an inky black and curled just like Sherlock's. His cheekbones stuck out and his nose was perfectly straight. Harry was glad to note that although, his eyesight was now improved, Sherlock hadn't altered the colour of his eyes. The greenness of his eyes now contrasted magnificently with his hair colour and his pale complexion. All in all he looked very… aristocratic.

He stopped this assessment of his features because he could hear Sherlock's footsteps pounding closer before bursting into the bathroom itself.

"Lestrade, a police officer, is coming up, so you must stay put." Sherlock whispered the words urgently before propelling himself out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

Harry swiftly shut the door.

He stared round the room, having been focusing on his features before, rather than the décor. The bathroom was large and spacious and very clean; a massive contrast to the living room and somehow Harry doubted that John left that much clutter lying around. There were toothbrushes, toothpaste and soap above the sink, all the usual things found in a bathroom. There was also a large window above the sink which he wandered over to and opened.

He stuck his head out, letting the cold air wash over his face. It was a pleasant feeling and Harry liked being this high up and seeing his surroundings. The view however wasn't great and all Harry could make out was the side of the flat and some flats in the distance.

So, Sherlock probably lived in a big city then. Most likely London. What was he doing this morning then, in a primary school in Surrey? It was something he planned to ask the man as soon as this man- Lestrade, left.

The noise of footsteps pounding up stairs caught Harry's attention amongst the noise of the cars outside. There were more than one sets of footsteps, that was for certain, possibly two or three.

Either way, it peaked Harry's curiosity as he heard footsteps actually come into the flat and he wanted to hear what they said. He quickly made his way over the door to listen.

Harry could hear someone open the door and put his head against the door in order to hear better.

"Lestrade, it was the headmaster at the school. He killed Alan Worth in a fit of anger. The man had an affair with his wife. A waste of my time" he heard Sherlock speak arrogantly. Sherlock sounded different like this, colder and more analytical.

Mr Worth had been killed by the headmaster? Poor Mr Worth, Harry thought mournfully. The headmaster had always struck him as a cold and cruel man. He'd always ignored Dudley bullying others, particularly when it was directed towards him. Harry was glad that he'd been caught.

"How did you- Oh never mind. I presume you have evidence." the newcomer- Lestrade? said exasperatedly.

Harry could hear the door being opened again and more people entering the flat.

"Knowing the freak, it was probably due to the tie he wore" another voice cried out sarcastically. It was definitely a female.

Wait, wait, wait. Freak? How dare they call Sherlock that! How dare they insult anyone like that! It made Harry's blood boil and he'd be tempted to go out there if not for the fact Sherlock had specifically told him to stay put.

"Donovan, as always it's a pleasure. I see Anderson broke up with you again, that must've been embarrassing, knowing that even _Anderson_ can't put up with you. Lestrade, I'm dreadfully busy at the moment and you appear to have no cases with you. What are you doing here?" Sherlock's rich baritone conveyed nothing but contempt for Donovan and Harry was glad he stuck up for himself. The again, Harry couldn't imagine him doing otherwise.

"We are doing a drugs bust, Holmes." Lestrade spoke wearily.

"You know I'm clean. And, I don't appreciate you holding pretend drugs busts. Particularly right now. So, I'm asking you to leave."

Lestrade side-stepped the question and said: "You must have procured some evidence from the Worth case or you wouldn't be back from Surrey so early, therefore this is an impromptu drugs bust".

"Bad timing I'm afra-

What have you done to John?" cried the female voice in alarm.

Ooops! Harry had completely forgotten about John's unconscious state and he must have been out for at least.. thirty minutes.

"Christ Sherlock!"

"He fainted" Sherlock replied coolly. "He'll both most embarrassed when he wakes up, I'm sure."

"And, you were just planning to leave him there?" cried the female indignantly.

"Of course not. I estimated when he'd wake up, in fact he'll be conscious in a minute".

"I'm sure the freak did that to him sir".

There was that word again! Were these police officers no better than childhood bullies? Harry thought disdainfully.

"Eugh…"

"John! What happened?"

So John _was_ ok then. Harry was relieved.

"Sherlock, where's he gone?" cried John in alarm.

"Who?" inquired Lestrade.

"He was there. Right there. Sprayed the tea. He stabbed you!"

"Who stabbed you, you weren't being attacked were you?" Lestrade asked, alarmed.

"Of course not. I'm perfectly fine." Sherlock replied arrogantly.

"Sir, he's lying! The bandage on his arm's still bleeding!"

"I must insist you leave right now." Sherlock's rich baritone was heard clearly above the rest.

"What's going on Holmes?" Lestrade began, walking round slowly.

Harry could hear someone near the bathroom door and quickly stumbled backwards. In his haste, he tripped and fell heavily into the side of the bath.

"Sir, there's someone in there!" It was a male voice, a newcomer Harry figured.

Harry picked himself up and resignedly headed to the door and opened it just as someone apparently tried to reach for the door handle which resulted in them falling to the floor.

"Whoops?" he said, amusedly.

The man on the floor smiled slightly to show he wasn't bitter about it. Slightly relieved, Harry extended a hand to help the man up.

"Thanks" he said as he stood up and motioned for Harry to exit the bathroom.

Slowly, stepping out, Harry could see a man and a woman staring at him in blatant shock.

"Holmes… who is this?" asked Lestrade.

He looked friendly, Harry decided. An open weathered face and he was obviously Lestrade, the man Sherlock had mentioned.

"This is my son, Harry" Sherlock declared.

The woman and the man stared at him in horror, as if expecting to him to spontaneously combust or to start attacking them frenziedly.

John meanwhile, stared at him curiously before Harry remembered that Sherlock had done something to his face.

* * *

Hope you like the chapter!

Also, I'm unsure whether to make John a wizard or any other sort of magical creature like a werewolf. Any suggestions would be great and really appreciated.


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